Breakfast in Bed
by maricsblade
Summary: Alistair brings his friend Elissa breakfast in bed. They get to know each other a little better when they reach Soldier's Peak. Kink!meme fill.
1. Chapter 1

"Wakey, wakey, princess!"

Yawning, Emma stretched and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Judging by the heavy shadows in her tent, dawn had broken but the sun was not up yet. She wondered who could be trying to rouse her at this early hour, and why. It certainly wasn't her turn to take watch.

"Are you…are you decent?" It was a male voice, hushed to avoid waking the rest of their party.

When she realized it was Alistair's voice, her heart skipped a beat.

"Just a minute!" she hissed back. She frantically cast about her tent, trying to find a clean change of clothes. She located a tunic and a pair of breeches and hurriedly changed into them. Then she sat down on her bedroll.

"You can come in," she whispered.

HIs disembodied head appeared through the flap. He quickly surveyed the interior of her tent, then grinned at her. A moment later the rest of him followed, crouching awkwardly to avoid hitting the canvas top. He carried a large, covered rectangular tray.

It felt odd, his intrusion into her personal space. A wry thought crossed her mind: _Wow, I never thought I'd get him into my tent _this_ easily_.

"What have you got there?" she asked, clearly puzzled, angling for a better view. "Loghain's head, I hope!"

"If I had Loghain's head—and I'm not ashamed to admit this—it would be on a pike beside the fire and I'd be dancing around it in my small clothes," he replied. "Good guess though! Points for trying." He smiled down at her, pleased at his successful subterfuge. Then he carefully set the tray down and lowered himself to sit cross-legged opposite her.

"No, I was thinking about what you were saying the other day about life on the road. I think we all dislike it, but probably you most of all because of how you were accustomed to living. So when we were running errands in town yesterday, I decided to pick up a few things."

His eyes twinkled. He reached for the tray's lid, hesitated a moment, then quickly removed it.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Sitting on the tray were two porcelain plates, white with a red floral pattern, loaded with scrambled eggs, salt pork, and toasted rusks. Two bowls of luscious-looking strawberries swimming in cream. Two steaming cups of tea. Crisp, white linen napkins. Elegant silverware. And, in the middle of it all—a single red rose in a white bud vase.

She flushed, silently berating herself for having complained about the rigors of their endless travel. He, who had rarely experienced a comfortable day in his life…instead of being put off and thinking her spoiled, he had done this.

"Alistair, you shouldn't have." She gave him a plaintive look. "I'm sorry I whined about that. We're all fatigued, every last one of us. I don't deserve special treatment. And this can't have been inexpensive."

"Please, Emma," he said, smiling gently. "My brilliant plans are few and far between, so just enjoy this. I borrowed the tableware from Arl Eamon's estate. The only cost was the food, and it wasn't that much. I just hope I didn't disturb anyone this morning, banging those pans around."

Feeling slightly less guilty, she beamed at him. "Thank you so much. It's lovely!"

He grinned. "Now, as Leliana has made me perfectly aware, I'm not exactly the world's best cook. But that's the beautiful thing about breakfast. It's difficult to do badly." He raised his fork and held it aloft. "Shall we?"

"Let's!" she said, lifting her own fork enthusiastically.

They dug into their food. To her surprise, Alistair was right; it actually was quite tasty. It was a nice change from their usual bland staples and grilled game, and the fine place settings somehow made it taste all the more delicious. She found, though, that she could not relax and enjoy it as much as she could have the same meal at home, for the simple fact that Alistair sat mere inches away.

She finished the savory part of her meal and started in on the strawberries, taking care not to spill cream down the front of her shirt. They were deep red, at the peak of ripeness, and perfectly sweet.

"Like those, do you?" he asked innocently.

She looked at him, quizzical. "They're wonderful. Why?"

"Because you're sitting over there saying, 'Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm' under your breath."

As she swallowed, a self-conscious smile spread across her face. Then she laughed and snapped her napkin at him.

When they finished eating, he reached over and plucked the rose from the bud vase. She realized she was holding her breath, wondering what he would say.

"Look at this. Do you know what this is?"

Something fluttered in her stomach. _It's a red rose, damn you, and you know perfectly well what it means._

"Um, is that a trick question?"

He smiled and looked at the flower. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How can something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' In lots of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you. I know that you haven't exactly had an easy time of it since your Joining, so I thought that I might give it to you—tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this darkness."

She was speechless. Had he really just said all that? About _her_? It was a good thing she was sitting down.

"Thank you, Alistair," she stammered. "That's a lovely thought. Really."

He held out the rose to her, looking intently into her eyes. In that instant, she felt engulfed by flame. She wished desperately that he would kiss her. She didn't want to have to push him into anything, didn't want to risk rejection or the awkwardness that would result—but dear Maker, these last couple of weeks, she was losing her mind.

And then he said something wholly unexpected.

"I'm glad you like it. Now if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."

He hadn't just say that. Had he?

"All right, off with the clothing," she deadpanned, hoping against hope that he'd actually meant something by it.

Instead, he chortled. "Bluff called! Damn, you saw right through me."

She smiled, but couldn't keep a subtly pained look from her eyes.

He glanced quickly around the tent, then cleared his throat.

"You know, I guess there's no real reason for me to bluff," he said softly. "Apart from the fact that I'm nervous, that is."

"Am I really so frightening?" she asked with a crooked smile.

"Dreadfully so. Can't you see me? I'm quaking in my boots!"

"Come here, you sillykins," she said, rising to her knees and holding out her hand. "I promise I won't bite."

He shuffled toward her.

"So sexy," she giggled, "waddling like a duck."

"Don't I know it!"

Upon reaching her he leaned back on his heels, laid his hands on his thighs, and gazed down at her expectantly. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, feeling the slight scratch of his stubble under her palm. Her heart was racing. He was so handsome and funny, so warm and giving, so _good_. She loved the fact that he knew himself so well and that despite being reluctant to lead, he had strong opinions and was not at all afraid to speak his mind. She longed to run away with him and lose herself for days in those eyes—damn Loghain, damn the Blight, damn anything else that threatened to get in their way.

She lifted her head and gently kissed him. He hesitated, then slowly began to respond, brushing his lips against hers. His awkwardness was brief; only moments later he was taking her lower lip between his and tenderly sucking on it, making her groan. Her tongue found its way into his mouth and began a gentle exploration, winding lightly against his, then pushing deeper, taking in the feel and taste of him.

All too soon she felt him stir against her leg, and she scooted her hips back to make some room between them. Sure, she knew what she wanted—but there was no point in rushing things and doing something that he might regret later.

Their kiss broke, and she reached up to ruffle his hair. His eyes were warm.

"Not so scary after all?" she murmured.

"Not at all," he breathed.

"Now I think it's time for you to get out of here. The others will be up shortly, and we have a lot of work to do."

"I think I need a minute," he said, glancing down at his lap, then back at her.

She felt heat rise in her face at his unexpected comment. It was so odd, so wonderfully peculiar, to hear him make a reference like that. She felt certain now that not only did he care for her but that this would happen again; things were going to progress between them. And thinking about that, she felt that she might burst.


	2. Chapter 2

Word had gotten out about her little present. Alistair had been nice enough to cook breakfast for the rest of their companions, but certainly no one else had received it "special delivery." Leliana in particular could not keep from razzing her.

"I wish _I_ had someone to bring me breakfast in bed," she'd said in a loud singsong voice, winking at Emma.

"I have offered you breakfast and more in bed, my lovely bard, yet you continue to refuse my hospitality," Zevran had sighed. "How do you resist me so? It is not natural."

Alistair had given up protesting the ribbing and taken the opportunity to tell everyone how much Emma had enjoyed her strawberries. She'd been rewarded with an occasional good-natured "oink, oink" behind her back ever since.

"Thanks for that," she'd told Alistair. "They're _really_ getting a kick out of this."

"Hey, at least you've never had thirty men point at you and laugh while gravy dripped down your face," he'd retorted light-heartedly.

They'd left at midday to meet Levi Dryden at Soldier's Peak. Three days' travel, two days' fighting to clear out the fortress…it had been hard, harrowing work and everyone was tired and scratched up. But now that they were done, having a free roof over their heads even for a short time was going to be a blessing.

Zev and Oghren volunteered to gather wood, and soon there was a roaring fire in the fireplace. There was little furniture to speak of, so everyone laid out their bedrolls around the room.

They had nothing to eat but dried provisions, but for the first time in a long while, no one seemed to mind—or if they did, they kept it to themselves.

"Perhaps Oghren would see fit to share his spirits," Zevran said brightly to the dwarf. "What say you, my squat and furry friend?"

This question was best asked after the dwarf was already into the sauce—a fact of which the Antivan was well aware.

"Get it before it's gone!" Oghren bellowed, and was soon spilling a clear and potent substance into several tin cups being held out before him.

Leliana warily sniffed the contents of hers, then turned up her nose. "Maker, what _is_ this? Not raspberry liqueur, that's for certain."

"Don't know, don't care," the dwarf replied with a belch. He raised his cup in the air. "Bottoms up, ever'body!"

This was going to be an interesting night, Emma thought to herself: a slumber party, with booze, on almost empty bellies. But they had definitely earned it.

Leliana sat down on her bedroll, pulled out a recorder, and began to play. In short order almost everyone was singing. Everyone except Morrigan, of course, who was off reading in a corner. And Sten, who sat with the group despite appearing wholly uninterested in the festivities.

After sipping only a quarter-cup of the fiery spirits, Emma began to feel warm, relaxed, and pleasantly light-headed. As she watched her companions enjoying themselves, the smile on her face grew wide. She thought again about how much they'd all needed a break like this. With so many threats lurking around every corner—bandits, darkspawn, wild animals, witches, undead, demons, soldiers—there were precious few places in which they could feel genuinely safe for any length of time.

She stole a glance at Alistair. He looked to be enjoying himself, too: flushed, unselfconscious, laughing and grinning from ear to ear at something that Wynne had just told him. She felt a pang and wished for the hundredth time that they could have some more time alone. They'd had no opportunity to continue their, um, _conversation_ of the other morning.

As the evening wore on the singing and storytelling grew louder and more raucous, becoming a din. It was well into the early morning hours before the noise started to fade and the merrymakers, one by one, began to yawn and tuck themselves into their bedrolls.

Emma followed suit, looking forward to a good night's sleep away from beasts and the weather. But mere minutes later she woke to a light touch at her elbow. Alistair was squatting in front of her, his face close to hers. The flickering firelight revealed a mischievous grin and a glint in his eyes. When she realized that he was tipping his head toward the stairway to the third floor, she smiled to herself.

She rose as quietly as she could and was glad that she hadn't bothered to change clothes, in case someone woke up and saw them. She crept up the creaky stairs, wincing at each protest they made, but Alistair had raced ahead. When she finally reached him, he ushered her into the Warden Commander's office, then closed the door behind them.

Away from the fireplace it was quite cold. Unconsciously, she moved in closer to him and began rubbing her arms.

"What are you doing up?" she hissed in her loudest whisper. "I would have sworn that you were three sheets to the wind not fifteen minutes ago."

"Who says I'm not?"

"I do. You very nearly sprinted up those stairs."

"Oh, well, you know," Alistair chuckled. "Growing up the way I did, I was never really much into drinking."

"So you were…what? Faking it?" Her expression was incredulous.

"Of course I was. Do you think I'd miss this chance to be alone with you? I was pouring my drink into everyone else's cups when they had their heads turned. Worked beautifully, don't you think?"

"You devious little so-and-so!" she snickered in amazement.

"This devious little so-and-so has had his eye on you all night. When you weren't looking, of course."

She felt her heart beat faster. She tried and failed to stifle a grin. "Is that so?" She paused. "Well, now that you've got me here, what are you going to do with me?"

"Hmm. Try to warm you up, for starters," he said, moving closer to rub her arms. "Beyond that, well…you're the expert here, not me."

"Me? Expert? Where did you get that idea?"

"I don't know. Isn't everyone an expert compared to me?"

"I suppose. But one lamppost does not an expert make."

"Really? You'd gone and gotten my hopes up! Never mind, then. I'll just be on my…"

"You are _incorrigible_!" she snorted, feigning annoyance. "First you get your friends drunk to get them out of your way, then you wake me from a sound sleep, and now you want to toss me out on my ear because I'm not 'experienced' enough for you_!_ As punishment, I order you to grab some firewood from downstairs and bring it up here. Kindling too. I'll get our bedrolls."

"Oh, this is going to get _interesting_," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Go!"

A few minutes later, they stood watching as a small fire started to catch in Sophia's fireplace. They had lain their bedrolls just far enough from the flames that they wouldn't be set alight by sparks.

Alistair glanced around the room. "You know, there's nothing like a bit of romance in a room that was inhabited for centuries by a demon-possessed corpse."

A small smile crossed her face. This was his way. But there was no need. "Alistair. Shhh. Defenses down now. It's just me…"

"All right," he said, and grew quiet. Then he looked down at her with that same direct, expectant look he'd given her that morning in her tent. And damned if it didn't make her shiver all over again.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and they both leaned slowly into the kiss. It began less tentatively than their first and deepened more quickly, their lips parted, tongues gently touching, then twining, seeking, exploring, wanting more and more of each other, until their bodies were pressed tightly together, their hands in each other's hair.

She felt the throb of blood in her loins, punctuated by that exquisite flutter in her most sensitive spot. _Twin to the cock's twitch_, she'd named it once, on a lonely summer evening in her bedroom in Highever.

As they continued to kiss and caress each other, she felt Alistair's erection jump against her hip.

_Speak of the devil._

Her throbbing grew more insistent.

"Alistair," she whispered in his ear. "Please, I want to touch you."

A low moan against her neck was the only response she received. While continuing to kiss him, she reached down and began to stroke him slowly through the uncharacteristically tight fabric of his breeches. She was thrilled to finally be touching him in this way, feeling him, watching his face, hearing his breath hitch. Eventually she reached lower, cupping her hand and dragging her fingernails lightly across the cloth.

"What are you doing to me?" he gasped, eyes closed, head back, infinitely still, firelight dancing on his skin.

"Nothing compared to what I'm _going_ to do to you." Another moan. "Kneel for me, please," she whispered, and followed him down to the floor. "We can't have you falling over in the middle of this, can we?"

She unlaced his breeches, then tugged them and his small clothes down just far enough for his erection to spring free into the warm, dry air. A murmur of approval escaped her throat as she briefly admired his manhood. She didn't have many examples to compare him against. He was certainly larger than her first, yet the word _elegant_ sprang to mind. Like his hands, she realized, in spite of their current callused state. For weeks she'd been unable to look at those hands without wondering what his long, slender fingers would feel like inside her.

When her hand found him again, she realized that she'd forgotten how silken his skin would feel. She marveled at it, touching his shaft and sac with the back of her hand, causing him to groan again. How was it possible for something to be so hard and so soft at the same time?

She began to stroke him once more, slowly but more firmly, being sure to vary the angle and twist her hand and close it over the head, as her first had shown her. She knew that he probably wouldn't last long, but she didn't want to rush him either.

"Emma, that feels so good…" His eyes were still closed but his chin rested on his chest now, his expression a mixture of agony and ecstasy. _Maker, you are handsome_, she thought, and reached out to touch his face.

A few more strokes…he didn't have time to get his hips into it before he cried out and his semen spurted into the air, spilling warm and thick over her hand. She loosened her hold on him but continued her movements, slowing them as he came down. Then she knelt quietly, waiting for him to speak.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes fluttering open, a restful smile on his face. "That was…wonderful."

She smiled back at him. "You don't have to thank me. I've, been, um…dreaming of doing that for weeks." She was surprised that she didn't feel more embarrassed admitting that.

He smirked. "And just what were you doing sneaking into _my_ dreams?"

"You! You are _so_ cheeky! I knew that whole innocence bit was just an act."

"Oh, it's hardly an act. But we'll see how much of it is left by the time _you're_ through with me."

She reached into her pocket for a handkerchief. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Not at all. Sorry about the mess."

"Please don't be. It's simply a messy business. But I promise I'll do a better job of cleaning it up next time." She looked up at him to catch his reaction but this comment seemed to be lost on him, which actually made her glad. She was going to enjoy teaching him what little she knew. And they would learn the rest together.

When she finished, he fixed his gaze on her. "And now, Emma, what can _I_ do for _you_?"

She'd been so focused on him that she had completely forgotten about herself, yet the throbbing was still so intense that she was surprised there was enough blood left in her brain to allow her to think properly.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something, Alistair," she teased. "If not, I'll help you out."

He took the handkerchief from her, set it aside, and laid her down on her bedroll. Then he propped himself up on one elbow, looked into her eyes, and began undoing the laces of her tunic. Even the fumbling of his inexperienced fingers was enough to give her goosebumps and start her nipples stiffening. She watched his expression become more intent as the laces came loose and the swell of her breasts became visible. He reached out and traced his fingers around and underneath one breast, avoiding its red center for the moment, causing her to shudder and arch her back.

"So beautiful," he breathed, continuing to stroke it, then gently knead it.

Next he traced his finger in closer and closer circles around her nipple. Only when he saw that this was driving her mad did he finally touch it, then gently squeeze it repeatedly between his thumb and forefinger, making her writhe and sending little jolts of electricity straight to her clitoris.

"Alistair. I thought you didn't know what you were doing," she said through gritted teeth.

"So did I! I feel silly now for having been so nervous."

Feeling bolder now, he reached down to lick and suck on that taut, deep red peak, and it was her turn to moan. "Please, Alistair…"

"Please what?"

"Please touch me…"

"I _am_ touching you."

She didn't know now whether he was ignorant or just teasing her. She reached for his hand, kissed his fingertips, then slowly put them to the place where the wetness had seeped through her garments.

His eyes registered wonder. "Maker, is that…for me?"

"For you, because of you…both…"

"I guess I'd better do something about it then, hadn't I?"

He unlaced her breeches and slid them down her legs and off her feet, unable to take his eyes off her body as he did so. Then pulled her tunic over her head as well, and took a moment to admire her in the warm light. "You look incredible," he murmured, running his hand over the curve of her hip.

She was gratified by his reaction, glad to know that he found her as attractive as she did him.

Then he lay beside her again and hesitantly began stroking that wet area in the fabric of her small clothes—around, up, down, over and over again. In no time she was writhing again and gasping for breath.

"Alistair? You really haven't been lying to me?"

"Not at all," he said softly. "Luckily for you, even templar initiates whisper behind closed doors. In fact, I believe there is a certain…_spot_…"

She gasped when he found it, then moaned, long and low, as he began to rub gentle circles around it, the thin wet fabric proving an inconsequential barrier.

As her hips thrust against his hand she felt a bit self-conscious about the noises she was making, but she soon forgot herself as she climbed higher and higher, pushing upward and outward, moving inexorably toward some unseen summit. "Please don't stop, Alistair," she whimpered. "Please…"

Instead he picked up his pace ever so slightly and pressed a bit more directly. Moments later she was in the throes of a powerful orgasm, crying out as pleasure exploded through her, hips undulating, muscles contracting, and somehow he guessed not to remove his hand too quickly but to linger and help her ride it out instead.

Afterward, as she lay there panting and catching her breath, she felt his kiss on her damp forehead. "Alistair. That was amazing. Really. I am not merely being kind. How in Andraste's name did you learn to do that?"

His face showed unexpected joy and pride. He smiled down at her and shrugged. "I don't know. I just did it. It doesn't seem all that difficult. You just have to pay attention."

"Sweet Maker, what have I gotten myself into?" she wondered aloud, knowing that hearing it would only please him further.

She couldn't help but notice that he was hard again against her hip. He caught her looking at his breeches. On one hand she didn't want to seem pushy, but on the other hand it seemed rude to ignore his state.

"Is there anything you want to do, Alistair?"

He sighed. "Want to do? Yes. Have the energy to do? No, no thanks to Avernus and Sophia. But I'd be happy to just…lie here with you the rest of the night."

She had to consider the wisdom of it, which irked her. If she thought the teasing about breakfast had been bad...but no, she couldn't let that get in the way. They could all be dead tomorrow; what would a bit of teasing have mattered then? As long as she could still lead them effectively, she couldn't worry about what they might think. This was war, privacy was non-existent, and they were a bunch of _people_, after all…people with feelings, needs, lives to live.

She reached up and kissed him softly. "You're right," she admitted. "We should get some sleep." She was surprised to realize, as she watched him undress quickly in preparation for sleep, that he had remained almost fully clothed the entire time. "Next time you're getting naked right away," she pouted. "What was I thinking?"

"You weren't," he said with a wink. "You went straight for my—"

"Alistair!" She burst out laughing, then quickly covered her mouth to keep from waking the others. She was really starting to enjoy this new side of him.

As they climbed into their bedrolls, she turned on her side and waited for him to lie back so she could lay her head on his chest. When he raised his arm and put it around her, she sighed contentedly. _I think I could spend eternity right here._

She knew that despite what she'd said, she would actually get little sleep; the electric excitement of lying next to him and being aware of every one of his movements would leave her exhausted and feeling sick to her stomach in the morning. Not exactly fighting condition. But she just couldn't bring herself to care.

"Is my lady happy?" Alistair inquired, yawning.

"She could not be happier. And she heartily thanks the devious little so-and-so for waking her up."

She heard the smile in his voice as he said, "Brilliant Plan Number 2, successfully executed." Then they both closed their eyes to try to get some sleep.


End file.
